


On Looks (and why shouldn't judge by them)

by booksandreadingismylife



Series: On Firebrands and Those They Love [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ANYTHING WILL DO, Bill is concerned that his feelings are Not Appropriate TM, Bill is torn between attraction and wariness, Bill may or may not have a slight competency kink, Bill's friends and family are apparently conspiring to drive him insane, Competent Fleur Delacour, Cursebreakers, F/M, Falling In Love, Fleur and Viktor as bffs because I said so, Fleur goes after what she wants, Fleur hides how many languages she speaks, Fleur is very smart, Fleur just wants him to jump her already, Fleur speaks Bulgarian, Fleur wants to join the Order, Flirting, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Sort Of, Spying (sort of), Triwizard Champion Fleur Delacour, War, being objectified because you're part Veela, gringotts, implied Nymphadora Tonks/Remus Lupin, in this house we stan Fleur, it's Bill, looking beyond appearances, mentioned Fleur Delacour & Nymphadora Tonks, minor references to (unpleasant) canonical character fates, or something like it, rich cast of characters whose backgrounds I barely mention, she's not particularly picky as long as she gets to hex some DEs, stops before they actually go on that date, thirsty Fleur Delacour, unclear on how multilingual she is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 04:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksandreadingismylife/pseuds/booksandreadingismylife
Summary: Bill has spent his whole life as a big brother and makes sure that his siblings know to be careful because appearances can be deceiving. He doesn’t like getting approached by people who want a little bad boy in their life (he knows what impression he leaves on the masses).Fleur is a big sister before everything but only ever gets complimented on her looks even though she knows she is valuable for more than that. She hates being objectified by anyone (even though when his eyes run down her figure, they feel more analytic than appraising).He knows she’s dangerous from the moment they meet. They fall in love anyway.Lookspl. n. – a person’s physical appearance
Relationships: Fleur Delacour & Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks & Bill Weasley
Series: On Firebrands and Those They Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536565
Comments: 20
Kudos: 95





	On Looks (and why shouldn't judge by them)

**Author's Note:**

> *claps hands* In this house we STAN Fleur Delacour *claps hands*
> 
> Oh look, I've started another series when I should be doing something else. Welcome to 10k odd words of Bill and Fleur dancing around each other without quite committing to a date.
> 
> I had to look up what the bird equivalent of "feline" is. It's "avian". 
> 
> According to my headcanon Veela (and part-Veela) only pick out those they deem "worthy". Also they can taste magic, the more powerful the better it tastes, because reasons. It's very rare for anyone to be able to basically just ignore Veela allure unless they know the person very well. Fleur manages to meet two in a year.
> 
> Also you can pry my headcanon of the three older Triwizard Champions bonding over the desire to protect this kid that got thrown into a fucking death competition from my cold dead hands. Neither Viktor nor Fleur are close to their classmates so they decide to become bffs with each other instead. Cedric was just a good Hufflepuff that went along with these two gorgeous, badass foreign champions when they decided to be his friend. 
> 
> BTW Fleur is French/Bulgarian bilingual in this with the equivalent of basic courses in Spanish, German and Gobbledygook, and more advanced English. She also pretends to be a dumb blonde Frenchwoman that speaks worse English than she actually does because it is absolutely amazing what people will say when they don't think you understand them.
> 
> ** TW - references to canonical character deaths/fates and to Bill and Fleur both being 100% willing to murder Death Eaters and go down fighting **

**. . .**

Bill is bored. He’s been officially transferred back to the London branch of Gringotts for all of two full days and he already wants to go back to Egypt. The goblins don’t hold mandatory staff meetings _there_. He knows what his job is, and there’s no way he’s leaving with Voldemort at large in Britain, but that doesn’t make the current situation any less tedious. He’s abruptly jolted out of his thoughts by an elbow to the ribs, courtesy of Carlos Vasquez. It’s dangerous enough to stop paying attention to the goblins when they have a nasty habit of randomly attacking staff members to make sure they are ready for anything at any moment. It’s worse to do so when important announcements are being made, lest you miss important information about new security measures and end up running afoul of them.

It seems that whilst he was zoned out Ragnok had introduced two new staff members. Bill instantly knows what’s caught Carlos’ attention. The first new staff member seems to be another transfer from a different Gringotts branch, the clothing style suggests somewhere in the Indian subcontinent, the expression advises them all to stop staring sharpish. But Bill knows it’s the second new staff member that’s caught the attention of practically every female-inclined person (and most of the male-inclined ones too, now that he’s thinking about it) in the room. He remembers Fleur Delacour from the Triwizard Tournament. More accurately, he remembers his brother raving about how she’d single-handedly managed to peacefully subdue a nesting mother dragon, and then he’d watched her take down three separate Acromantula and blast through two different magical enchantments in the final task, all without breaking a sweat.

Fleur Delacour is _dangerous_. He knows better than to judge a book by its cover. After all, the more attractive something is, the more deadly it is likely to be. A brief glance at his human co-workers tells him that he is apparently the only one to acknowledge this – they all seem to have forgotten the most basic principle of curse-breaking: if it looks pretty or harmless, don’t touch because it almost definitely isn’t. _Have they all gone completely barmy?_

He looks back at her, this time assessing her appearance and how she holds herself. At first glance her delicately cut robes seem stylish rather than functional, but nearly a dozen years of friendship with Nadya Shafiq have taught him to look beyond the obvious and how to identify the tell-tale shimmer of clothes enchanted to defend against magic. Her hairstyle is practical rather than aesthetic, and her wand is in a wand holster on her left arm. Her heeled boots are sturdy enough to climb through a tomb without issue and the heels look to be coated in some kind of metal that would _definitely _hurt to be kicked with. Her chin is jutting out and she’s holding her head high, but there’s a wariness in her stance that reveals her readiness to move swiftly should she need to and her right hand hovers just behind her hip where Bill is prepared to bet a broomstick he doesn’t have on her having a secondary weapon of some sort. He could swear he reads irritation in her expression but isn’t close enough to be able to say for sure.

He looks at his co-workers out of the corner of his eye and sees the vast majority appreciating her beauty and nothing else. Not one of them is apparently capable of looking past the surface. None of them seem to be aware of the danger she exudes. _Fight me_. She’s practically daring them to judge her and find her wanting, willing and able to prove herself if she must. But none of them have noticed.

He catches her eye by accident, and she looks at him through her eyelashes flirtily. He raises an eyebrow in challenge, and she smirks in acknowledgement that he’s seen the carefully hidden predator beneath the pretty façade. If he’s not mistaken there’s some measure of pleasure or satisfaction in her gaze too. But that can’t be right.

Her eyes run up and down his figure openly. He knows she’s appraising him in turn, weighing his threat levels in comparison to their co-workers. He knows what she sees when she looks at him and wonders if she can see the things that he’s hiding behind his looks as well as he can see through hers. He can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine as she meets his eyes again. He is, after all, a young male wizard with a healthy libido, and as dangerous as she is, she is breathtakingly beautiful. And he’s not going to deny that the inherent predatory danger in her gaze adds to her appeal.

“_Mierda_.” Carlos swears lowly beside him. “How is it you always get the pretty girls to look at you like that, _amigo_?”

Bill shrugs his shoulders. “I’m fairly certain that’s not how she’s looking at me, mate.” He says out of the corner of his mouth, eyes not leaving her for a moment. He’s not going to be turning his back on her any time soon. Beautiful or not, he has no intention of being prey to _this_ predator.

When Ragnok asks for volunteers to show their two new colleagues around the bank and help them out for the first few weeks, nearly every male in the room predictably offers themselves up. Mlle Delacour ignores them all and steps towards him.

“Would you mind, Monsieur, ah-”

“Weasley.” He supplies. “Bill Weasley. And I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. I’m fairly new myself and I speak Spanish and Arabic far better than French.”

She looks up at him with innocent eyes, somehow managing to present an image of vulnerability, despite the danger inherent in her presence and the fact that she managed to be one of the handful of newly minted European graduates to join the Gringotts curse-breaking team, which is harder to join and more competitive than any Law Enforcement Division in the world. “I am sure zhat you will be very ‘elpful Mssr Weasley. Besides, I applied for zhis, ah” she pauses for a moment, clearly searching for the correct word, “particular post because I wish to improve my English. It would be ‘ard for me to do so if I only speak with zhose zhat speak _Français_, _non_?”

Her voice sounds as appealing as her appearance, and it takes Bill a moment to respond. “I suppose you’re right when you put it like that. Why don’t I show you the cloakroom and the lockers first so that you can take off your cloak?” He leans in closer and lowers his voice, “It looks slightly uncomfortable.”

He catches the momentary intake of breath that she tries to hide when he gets inside her personal space and a small part of him is pleased that he has managed to unsettle her as much as she has managed to unsettle him. A much larger part of him is occupied with squashing the attraction he feels (reminding himself that regardless of her danger and capability it is inappropriate to feel that way about a new colleague fresh from school and half a decade his junior) and keeping track of all of her limbs.

“I believe zhat would be an excellent plan.” Her French accent draws the words out and she threads her right arm through his left, challenging him to object.

He has six younger siblings, all of whom are capable of terrifying things when they put their minds to it, and his grandmother was born a Black. He can play this game as well as she can. He smiles at her winningly. “Shall we?”

“_Oui_. We shall.”

As he leads probably one of the most dangerous women he’s ever met towards the staff cloakroom, he hears Carlos mutter what he’s fairly certain is “Lucky bastard” in Spanish.

Their hips brush as they thread past the others rushing around and he feels the distinct outline of a goblin-made stiletto press against his side for a moment. _Lucky bastard indeed._

**. . .**

Fleur is disinterested in what her new boss is saying as he introduces her to her new colleagues. She chose to come to the British Gringotts Division over either of the French for one reason, and one reason only. She’s not going to let any more people she cares about get hurt by this _Voldemort_, all she needs is to find one of the resistance groups she’s certain are brewing and convince them to let her join. One way or another.

Her new colleagues are pretty much all staring at her. She’d find it amusing that they had ceased to function correctly if she wasn’t so irritated by the way they had all turned into blithering idiots the second they laid eyes on her. She is smart, capable, and dangerous, and she knows that. And yet _none of them_ are acknowledging it. She sees a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye. _Almost_ no one. She can feel the redhead’s eyes running up and down her figure, but not lustfully, the way the others are staring. No, he’s _assessing_ her. He’s seeing the danger that she has layered just under the surface, where anyone can see it if they just _look_. He isn’t looking at her beauty, he’s looking at what she is capable of. The part of her that is all predator sits up and takes notice. She feels the avian urge to preen and show off and ruthlessly quashes it. _Interesting._ She has yet to meet a man that can look past the surface from the start. And she’s _never_ met one that’s induced the urge to preen in her before.

She turns towards him so that their eyes meet, and she looks at him through her lashes in a move that is deliberately flirty. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she can’t quite supress her smirk at the implied incredulity, like he’s wondering if she’s _really_ trying to pretend to be harmless. _Even more interesting._ It’s a rare person that’s immune to the allure of a Veela, full-blooded or not. It is also incredibly satisfying to be looked at and _seen _as the dangerous being that she is. She runs her eyes up and down his figure, if she’s going deliberately slowly and enjoying it as she assesses him, well no one has to know, do they?

He looks familiar. His clothes are worn but practical, muggle style rather than longer robes, and to her practiced eye they are clearly warded to protect against harm. His dragonhide boots are ugly to look at, but she’s willing to bet they’re comfortable and nigh indestructible. He wears a leather jacket made out of no hide that she’s ever seen before, that makes absolutely no effort to conceal his muscled arms and shoulders (the ever-present Veela part of her mind that she ruthlessly ignores coos in a mixture of desire and admiration). He has several necklaces around his neck that are partially concealed beneath his shirt (she resists the urge to shred it) and what looks to be a dragon fang dangles from his left ear. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail that her fingers itch to pull, if only to prove dominance, and its only when her eyes trail lazily over his face that she recalls where she has seen him before. Hogwarts. Before the Final Task, they’d exchanged flirtatious looks and checked each other out. He had been one of Harry’s guests in the Tournament. His redheaded friend’s (Ron?) older brother. No wonder he wasn’t fooled by her appearance. He’d already seen her in battle, regardless of how badly that had turned out in the end. This redhead just got more and more interesting.

She meets his eyes again and lets a whisper of the predatory _want_ she feels slip into her gaze. Whether he perceives it or not, he shivers imperceptibly.

The wizard next to him says something to him that she can’t hear, and he replies without taking his eyes off her. _This _is a male worthy of attention. He sees the predator and acknowledges the danger. Fleur is willing to bet that his magic would feel wonderful on her skin. She ruthlessly schools her expression. She isn’t going to give off the impression that she is prepared to devour this man (who is almost certainly at least five or six years her senior and all the more wonderfully dangerous for it) regardless of how true that might be.

He still hasn’t looked away from her and she gets a thrill from the idea that this man is refusing to fall prey to the dangerous beauty that lives in her skin. She revels in the fact that he doesn’t care for her looks, is too caught up in the danger she poses to let the thrall take hold. Yes, _this male_ was indeed worthy of a Veela’s attention.

When Ragnok asks for a volunteer to show her around, she ignores them all and heads straight for the redhead that she’s already started thinking of as _hers_.

“Would you mind, Monsieur, ah-” she pauses. She’d forgotten that she doesn’t yet know his name (has forgotten the name of the boy that had helped rescue her sister).

“Weasley.” He supplies before she has time to be embarrassed. “Bill Weasley. And I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. I’m fairly new myself and I speak Spanish and Arabic far better than French.”

_Interesting._ He has to be one of the first men she’s ever met who has tried to get out of spending time with her. She likes him even more just for that. But she didn’t get where she is now by giving up on what she wants that easily.

She widens her eyes, thankful that there’s a big enough height difference, even in her boots, that she’s looking _up _at him. She thinks she catches a hint of amusement in his eyes before she speaks. “I am sure zhat you will be very ‘elpful Mssr. Weasley.” She makes sure to speak slowly, to emphasise her accent (she’d overheard more than one Hogwarts student mention how attractive they found the French accents of the Beauxbatons students when she was there), and to conceal the fact that she’s not having as much difficulty with the language as she wants them to think. “Besides, I applied for zhis, ah” she pauses for a moment, for emphasis, like she’s trying to find the correct word, “particular post because I wish to improve my English.” _Lie._ There’s nothing wrong with her English, and it’s better than the vast majority of her former classmates. She makes sure to flutter her eyelashes at _Bill_ slightly before injecting a slightly more flirty tone to her voice. “It would be ‘ard for me to do so if I only speak with zhose zhat speak _Français_, _non_?”

He pauses, slightly taken aback, but recovers quickly. “I suppose you’re right when you put it like that. Why don’t I show you the cloakroom and the lockers first so that you can take off your cloak?” He leans in close enough that she can feel his breath fanning her face and lowers his voice to an intimate volume, “It looks slightly uncomfortable.” Fleur catches a glimpse of satisfaction in those bright blue eyes when she has to breathe in sharply to squash the urge to drag him back towards her and immediately has to supress the impulse to sink her talons into his shoulders to teach him a lesson about teasing her.

She barely hesitates before responding. “I believe zhat would be an excellent plan.” She knows that her accent draws out her words and she threads her right arm through his left, getting her first taste of his magic (and it’s just as wonderful and powerful and tempting as she imagined) and practically daring him to object to the move in the presence of men who would kill for the attention.

He smiles back at her winningly, almost completely unfazed which makes her blood race in challenge, and gestures with his free arm. “Shall we?”

“_Oui_. We shall.” She catches the Cursebreaker they leave behind them cursing Bill in Spanish as they walk away and hides her smirk. She never said she couldn’t speak other languages after all. She wonders how long it will take them all to notice that she understands more than just French. A sideways glance at Bill makes her think that it won’t take some of them long at all.

She feels him freeze for a moment when their sides brush and realises that he can feel her _mémère_’s stiletto hidden under her clothes. She hides a smile when he makes no comment about it.

Yes, coming here was the right decision.

**. . .**

** _stiletto_ ** _ n._

_pl. stilettos or stilettoes_

_1 A small dagger with a slender, tapering blade or something shaped like such a dagger_

_2 A small, pointed instrument used for piercing holes for eyelets or embroidery_

_3 A shoe or boot with a stiletto heel_

**. . .**

Mum is furious when the _Prophet_ dismisses Harry’s claims as those of a lunatic liar less than a week after school ends. Sirius Black (and Bill will not ever admit to being relieved that the man who’d been the other half of a double act in so many of the stories he’d heard growing up was innocent of murdering the first half) is ready to commit murder.

Bill’s parents don’t even hesitate to join the Order.

Percy argues with them, calls them names and insults them in ways that Bill can’t even imagine _thinking _before storming out of the house and not coming back_._ He’s scared that what Harry says might be true but he’s willing to bury his head in the sand and disbelieve it because he doesn’t really understand that that’s not an option for them, not when Harry’s got a target on his back bigger than he is and Ron’s got one almost as big just for caring, and none of them are willing to let anything happen to either of them (he’s not old enough to properly remember that they’d had more than one Prewett Aunt and Uncle and almost as many Prewett relatives as Weasley ones once, that their mother’s brothers would have led the Prewett family one day had they survived).

Mum would like nothing better than for Charlie to go back to Romania and for Bill to go back to Egypt, where they’ll be as safe as she can get them and far away from this war that’s about to start. But Bill remembers his Uncle Fab and Uncle Gid, and how Aunty Alice used to show him how to make flower crowns for Mum and Aunty Tessa and for Lizzie and Peggy so that they could be the princesses to Charlie’s knight that saved the Dragon. He remembers Charlie crying his eyes out all night when he found out that the twins wouldn’t be coming to play dragons and princesses with him anymore because they’d joined the ancestors, and how Mum had collapsed in the kitchen that time Aunty Alice had come to tell her about Uncle Fab and Uncle Gid, and how it had taken Mum and Dad three weeks to explain to them all why Aunty Alice wouldn’t be coming over with Nevy anymore. Bill’s not going _anywhere_. He’s not losing any more family to Voldemort, least of all one of his little siblings (he knows that Charlie remembers too, because when Mum tries to broach the subject with them after dinner the day after Percy leaves, he shuts her down almost as fast Bill does).

Bill’s going to fight in this war with everything he’s got, come hell or high water (if he’s going to hell he sure as shit is taking some Death Eater scum down with him (they can save him a seat) and if he drowns he’s going to take pleasure in making sure he’s not the only one). Weasleys are troublemakers, every one of them, (he’s half Prewett too, and he knows there’s a reason that Voldemort was scared enough of a family only tangentially involved in the war that he’d tried to wipe it all out) and he’s going to forcibly remind every single blood-obsessed crazy out there that some battles can’t be won without fighting for every last handful of dust, especially when Weasleys (and Prewetts) are involved.

Let them come.

They’re going to pay for what happened to his mother’s family, for Uncle Fab, Uncle Gid, Aunty Alice, Aunty Tessa, and the twins. They’re going to regret being the reason for Ginny’s nightmares, Ron’s fear, and the haunted, hunted look that Harry has gained since the World Cup. This war is going to destroy every single person that thinks that following a madman with an obsession is the right thing to do. They aren’t going to be making it out the other side. Bill is going to make sure of it.

**. . .**

Papa begs her to stay in France and apply to the Paris or Marseilles branches of Gringotts like she’d originally planned.

Maman just looks at her calmly and asks if she’s sure. Fleur thinks of her fellow competitors in the Tournament, how one is dead, one had to watch it happen, and the last is just as determined as her to make the culprit _pay _(let it never be said that the Bulgarians are any less passionate than the French, especially not when their own are involved – there’s a reason a species like the Veela are more at home in Bulgaria than practically anywhere else in the world) and just nods.

Gabrielle hugs her goodbye before she leaves and Mme Maxime tells her that she’s told a friend who is already gathering people to fight the war about Fleur’s desire to be involved on Harry’s side (and it’s _Harry’s _side, not Dumbledore’s or anyone else’s. _Harry_ is the one who watched the return. _He’s_ the one in the most danger. It’s on _his_ behalf that she wants to fight) and that if she’s patient he’ll reach out to her.

Fleur has no interest in waiting for someone to decide whether or not she is _allowed_ to fight with him. She’d just as soon go and find an organisation herself. She’ll create one if she has to.

Her classmates may be petty and dismissive about the danger all they want, but Cedric is _dead_ (and she will remember how Harry had looked in the instant they had reappeared – clinging to his corpse, covered in blood, eyes wide and desperate and terrified – for the rest of her life). Harry is alive through luck as much as anything else, and one of the adults that they were supposed to trust – that everyone _had _trusted – was partially responsible for his near miss.

She’s not old enough to remember the first war against the man the British call “You-know-who” (and isn’t that name just _ridiculous_) but she has heard enough stories and met enough people that fled the violence to know that what happened during the tournament (and forcing someone to compete, using an international cooperative event to try to assassinate a boy that always reminded her so much of her sweet little sister, the whole thing makes her blood boil and ignite) is not so out of the ordinary and is just the “_tip of the iceberg”_ to use an English expression.

No, she isn’t going to sit back and see if this war makes it to France. She’s going to ensure that it never gets that far, come fire or flood, even if she dies in the process (it’s helpful that fire is the first thing that a Veela learns to control and that storms are their element as much as magic is). And if she’s trying to repay Harry for helping her sister when she couldn’t, for not even registering her looks despite being neck deep in puberty hormones, for seeing her as a competitor and powerful witch first and as a pretty girl second; if she’s trying to make up for what he had to see, for what the three of them had promised each other they would try to protect him from, (he’s young, and he doesn’t seem to realise just how small and scared he had looked, that moment he was told he had to compete) well that’s no one’s business but her own.

She is a Delacour and of Veela blood besides. She will fight in this war and she will make sure these so-called _Death Eaters _remember that she is a half-breed every time she fells one. Bad enough that in her own school there are still those that would whisper behind her back about her ancestry. Gabrielle will not know the prejudice and bigotry that these beasts would spread the world over if they could – as if any of their own blood is still pure.

She knows creature blood when she sees it, and the British wizarding world is _full _of it, whether they remember their ancestors or not.

**. . .**

** _war _ ** _n._

_pl. wars_

_1 A state of open, armed, often prolonged conflict carried on between nations, states, or parties_

_2 The period of such conflict_

_3 A state of hostility, conflict, or antagonism_

_4 A struggle or competition between opposing forces or for a particular end_

**. . .**

Bill has been Mlle Delacour’s “guide” for nearly a week before he finally gets cornered.

“Are you serious, _amigo_? That woman’s been eyeing you like you’re a rare delicacy that she’s itching to sink her teeth into, and you’ve been treating her like she’s a Chimaera that will rip your throat out if you turn your back on her!” Carlos is not a happy camper. Bill knows that he’s a big fan of Fleur Delacour for all of the same reasons that every unmarried Cursebreaker that finds themselves attracted to women is a big fan of the French Witch.

‘Sink her teeth into him’, that’s a rather apt description for the way he feels her staring at him whenever they aren’t occupied doing their _actual jobs_. How to explain to Carlos that this is exactly the reason why he’s been treating her like a starved Nundu. Especially when pretty much every other unattached Cursebreaker in the building would murder to be in his position.

Carlos doesn’t give him a chance to actually formulate a response. “If you’re not interested, at least give the rest of us a chance to hit that!”

Bill feels that tingle down his spine that means he’s being watched by his newest co-worker, and sees Mlle Delacour just across the staff canteen, eyes blazing in fury. His knees literally shake (and it is entirely based on fear, there is not even a little attraction involved, _nope_). He knows he has to pick his next words carefully if he doesn’t want to be one half of a double homicide. 

“Poor choice of words, Carlos, given that the _she_ is a powerful witch with a not insignificant knowledge of a variety of curses that would render you impotent.”

Carlos huffs at him.

“She’s _dangerous,_ Carlos, and I’m apparently the only Cursebreaker in the building that can see that! I’m treating her the same way I would a Chimera because I am, in fact, worried that she will rip my throat out like one at the first sign of weakness.”

Carlos scoffs. “Please, she wants to jump you, anyone with eyes can see that.”

“I was under the impression that ‘anyone with eyes’ could see that she is hands down one of the most dangerous people in this building, but I was apparently wrong about that. You’re all too preoccupied with how attractive you find her and whether or not you’ve got a chance, meanwhile I’m just trying to survive being left alone with her. That witch is a predator through and through and I’d rather avoid being her next meal. Curse my attitude all you like; I won’t be the one getting eaten alive.”

“Putting it like that though… Maybe she is a predator willing to eat you alive, but _puta madre_ what a way to go!”

Why is he friends with Carlos again? “Look, if you really want to spend time with her, please, take her off my hands, I have a meeting with the Auror Department this afternoon about some kind of cursed brooch that Auror MacDougal found on a raid yesterday. But please, Carlos, for the love of Magic, be careful and treat her with the same respect you’d treat Sarkissian _Rayis_.”

“_Señora_ Sarkissian?” Carlos favours him with his ‘_tonto del culo_’ look.

Bill resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. _Is this how Professor McGonagall feels _all the time_? _“Don’t look at me like I’m an idiot, Carlos.” He’s saying Carlos’ name a lot. “She can and will maim you if you’re not careful.”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Ok, Bill. I believe you.” He pats his shoulder patronisingly. “Why don’t you go and have your meeting with the _cabrónes_ in _el departamento del Auror_ and I’ll see if speaking Spanish is in any way similar to speaking French.” He grins at him carelessly.

Bill sighs. “Please don’t make me go to your funeral.”

“Have a bit of faith in me, _amigo_.”

“I _do_ have faith in you, I just know that Mlle Delacour is _way _more dangerous, ruthless, and fear-inducing than you, and if it comes to a duel, you’re toast.”

“_Gracias_.” Carlos says in a tone that says he isn’t thankful at all.

Bill slaps his back, embracing his inner Fred and George. “You are _very _welcome. Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself now.” He turns Carlos around. “She’s right there. Please give her my apologies, I would much rather be early to this meeting and get it over with.”

“_What_? Has she been there this whole time? Bill?” Bill beats a hasty retreat while Carlos is still spluttering. “_Bill!_ I’m going to get you for this, _cabrón_, I swear to _la Magia_!”

“_Bonjour_, Monsieur Vasquez. _Ça va_?”

“Uh… _bien bien_. Um. You, _Señorita_ Delacour?”

Bill stifles his laughter as he makes his escape, hearing Carlos try to regain his dignity in the face of the metaphorical Dragon. Fleur Delacour should not be messed with.

**. . .**

It takes Fleur less than a week to deduce that if Bill Weasley is not already a member of a resistance group, he will be shortly. If being the older brother of Harry’s best friend was not enough, his mother was born a Prewett. What happened to the McKinnons is widely known, even on the continent. What happened to the Boneses and the Prewetts is less well known, but her Papa’s position in the_ Bureau des Relations Magies Internationales_ means that she knows more than most.

Fleur would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to fighting with him. He’s powerful, smart, and not taken in by her Veela allure. The fact that he’s attractive is just a bonus as far as she is concerned.

When she hears him talking to a colleague about her, and Vasquez refers to her in the way one would an object, it takes self-control she didn’t know she had not to eviscerate him on the spot. It’s one thing to talk about her attractiveness. She’s not stupid. She knows that it happens. But to refer to her like _that_, in their workplace no less, where she could – and has – easily come across them is another level altogether. It’s only the presence of Bill and his description of her as a dangerous and powerful witch that stops her from committing murder right then and there. If the reason she stops is to prevent herself from physically preening at his words, well that’s between her and _Mère Magie_. Hearing him go on to explain that he’s trying to _survive_ in her presence is a little ridiculous, and while it’s true that she is a predator, that’s not the kind of ‘eating alive’ that she would like to do to Mr Weasley. She clearly needs to make her intentions towards him a bit more clear if he’s still under the impression that she’d make any kind of advance that wouldn’t end with explicit pleasure on both sides.

Much as she currently dislikes Vasquez, at least _he_ understands the point that she thought had already been thoroughly made.

She continues to shamelessly eavesdrop on the ‘private’ conversation as Bill abruptly dumps her in Vasquez’s hands, and she’s torn between irritation that he’s avoiding her and not bringing her with him to the Auror Departement, and amusement at his clear exasperation with their colleague. She settles on amusement when he literally throws Vasquez to the dogs (wolves? She’s not sure how that expression is meant to go) and practically vanishes into thin air, leaving him to his fate. 

“_Bonjour_, Monsieur Vasquez. _Ça va_?” She says, making sure he understands just how unimpressed she is with his behaviour towards her.

“Uh… _bien bien_. Um. You, _Señorita_ Delacour?” He stumbles over his response, clearly trying to regain his dignity. Over his shoulder she can see Bill laughing at his misfortune. She smirks slightly. Vasquez really should not have insulted her.

**. . .**

Fleur finds that despite her original motives for applying for the position, she loves her work. She is now part of a ten-hand team with Witches and Wizards from all over the world. The same team that Bill is a member of, in fact. She couldn’t have asked for things to work out better if she tried. And given how kind and brilliant all of her colleagues (except for Vasquez – she’s going to be holding a grudge against him for how he described her in the _cantine_ for a while) are, she isn’t going to.

Madame Sarkissian is their team leader. She’s an Armenian witch that is wrapping up her last project in Egypt, but she makes her presence _felt_. She floos three times a week to make sure everything is going well and there are no problems. With her are Nadya Shafiq and David Nenci-Favero, both were part of Mme Sarkissian’s former team and will be returning with her. The former is a terrifyingly competent half Saudi Arabian witch that she understands went to school with Bill and whose hijabs show off her incredible Charms skills (if Fleur were an iota less confident in her own skills, she would probably weep with envy). The latter is a charming middle-aged (and still very attractive) Italian man whose husband is the team’s on-call Healer.

The six remaining members in England include both Bill and Vasquez. Aside from them are: Mssr Kamal Chaudhri, an older wizard who transferred on the same day that she started and who is no less formidable despite his advanced age; Mssr Eskaminzin Rivers, an Apache wizard with _a lot_ to say about Ilvermorny, very little of which is positive, and who can apparently track a demiguise at night without too much bother; Mlle Marta Bermúdez, who is from an old and influential family in Colombia and can identify a staggering amount of curses with barely a glance; and Mssr Shirou Fujimoto, a Japanese wizard who has asked her to address him as Fujimoto-san or Senpai Shirou, and whose stealth ability is practically unparalleled.

Between the fact that most of them have known each other for years, and all of them are incredibly skilled and experienced, Fleur finds herself feeling properly insecure for the first time in her life. Its an unpleasant feeling and she doesn’t like it. Her solace is that despite having a minimum of 3 years’ experience, of the 20-odd _unattached_ Cursebreakers who work in the London branch, only Bill and Fujimoto-san seem to be immune to her allure, and despite having hated it when she was younger, she gets a not insignificant amount of entertainment at watching more than one seasoned Cursebreaker suddenly trip over their words when she approaches them to ask a question, no matter how fluently they’d spoken previously.

When this happens Bill frowns at her slightly like she’s doing it on purpose, but there’s only so much she can do about it. Fujimoto-san just laughs when he notices and compliments her on her ability to handle grown men and women reverting into horny teenagers in her presence.

She’s so busy settling in and getting into a routine that it’s somehow nearly three weeks before she gets the opportunity to speak to Viktor and see how his attempts to acclimate to Britain are going (his Team Captain still hasn’t forgiven him for taking a leave of absence to ‘find himself’ after the Tournament).

They meet at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley. (Bill had raved to her about how good the ice cream was, and she’s been dying to find the opportunity to go) After exchanging _la bise_ and ordering ice cream (mint and strawberry for him, dark chocolate and raspberry for her) they sit down and suddenly she’s dying to tell him everything that’s happened in the last month, even though they’ve been corresponding regularly. He lets her chatter at him in Bulgarian for nearly a quarter of an hour before he interrupts her mid-anecdote.

“Who’s Bill?”

“Euh?” Fleur looks at him in complete confusion because she was just talking about Vasquez trying to trick ‘Zin into eating raspberry donut instead of a strawberry one, and Bill wasn’t even present at the time. “I was talking about Vasquez and Mssr Rivers. Bill was not present.”

“I know. But you’ve mentioned Bill twenty-three times in the last fifteen minutes and the only thing I could tell you about him for a fact is that he’s a Cursebreaker. Everything else you’ve told me is ‘Bill says this’ and ‘Bill thinks that’.”

Fleur feels herself turning red. “That’s not true. I did not mention him that often.”

Viktor looks at her flatly, the effect somewhat ruined by the spoon sticking out of his mouth and the ice cream smeared on his cheek.

Her blush gets hotter. “It’s possible that I hold him in high esteem.”

“…You fancy him.” Viktor translates.

“Viktor! I do not! That is completely inappropriate! He’s my English tutor!”

“_Oh no, I don’t fancy Bill he’s just giving me completely unnecessary private English lessons._” He mimics her voice in, quite frankly appalling, French, and she screeches at him.

“_Viktor_! Basta!”

He bursts into laughter and she flaps her hands impotently for a moment before grabbing her spoon and flicking ice cream at his face. His startled expression is extremely satisfying for all of three seconds, before ice cream drips off his nose and she collapses into laughter, not particularly caring that she’s causing a scene.

Viktor is dumbfounded for maybe ten seconds after that before he starts laughing again. It takes them several minutes to calm down, fresh rounds of laughter bursting out every time they catch sight of the other, and by the time they manage to stop, tears are pouring down their faces.

“I needed that.” Fleur admits. “I feel like I haven’t laughed properly since the maze.”

Viktor nods in agreement and she sees the familiar twist of guilt in his face. She’s refused to let him apologise for casting the Cruciatus curse on her, since as far as she’s concerned, being under the Imperius curse means he’s in no way at fault.

She grabs his hand and kisses it like she would for Gabrielle. “I admit I may… _admire_ Mssr Weasley more than my other colleagues-”

Before she can continue Viktor cracks up and she has to make a quick adjustment to their position, so he doesn’t accidentally use her hand to punch himself in the face. “You _admire_ him?”

Fleur makes a face and snaps at him. “Fine! He’s smart, he’s funny, and he adores his little brothers and sister to bits. He’s incredibly thoughtful and I can feel his magic when we accidentally brush past each other and its absolutely intoxicating and makes me want to lose myself in him.” She pauses. “Also, he’s fairly attractive.” She admits.

Viktor looks at her. “I was sort of kidding earlier, but you actually really like him, don’t you?”

Fleur smiles at him, slightly helplessly. “I kind of do. It was an accident but from the first day there was something about him that drew me in. He’s not affected by my allure at all.”

“He’s not? Not even a little bit?”

“Not even a little, as far as I can tell. He never was either. The first day he saw me he skipped straight past the ogling that all of the others did and went straight for threat assessment.”

“Marry him.”

“Viktor!” Fleur leans across the table to slap him with her free hand.

She knocks the dishes by accident, and he uses his free hand to catch them, then stacks them on a neighbouring table so that it doesn’t happen again.

“I’m serious, he judged you by _you_, not your looks. And you clearly find him desirable.”

“I’m also fairly certain he’s part of a resistance group. Either that or he’s about to join one.”

“Really?”

Fleur nodded.

“Marry. Him. Now. I’ll get an official, you kidnap him.”

Fleur drops her face into her hand and moans. “_Viktooor._ _Stoooooooop_!”

“Fleur?” It takes her a moment to realise the voice is coming from behind her rather than in front. She turns around and there is Bill Weasley in all his redheaded, unfairly attractive glory. He’s close enough that she can _almost_ taste his magic and its an effort not to close the distance. He’s with a short figure in Auror robes with bright pink hair and a taller black man, also in Auror robes.

“Bill.” It takes her a moment to formulate a thought in English. He’s wearing duelling robes and it’s doing weird things to her psyche. “’Ow are you? I thought you ‘ad zhe day off, also?”

“It _is_ my day off. I was at the indoor Arena and I ran into Tonks and Kingsley. They have lunch now, so I invited them to catch up over ice cream. I see you had the same idea?”

Fleur nods along to what Bill is saying but the mental image of him mid-duel means that she is having difficulty listening.

“_This is Bill_?” Viktor hisses in her ear in Bulgarian. “_You undersold his attractiveness. Heavily! I take it back. You can’t marry him! Your babies will be so stupidly pretty that they’ll take over the world through sheer attractiveness and then I’ll have to bodyguard them to make sure that no one tries to have their wicked way with them._” He pauses. “I’d_ like to have my wicked way with him. Do you think he’s attracted to men?_”

Fleur has to actually stop mid-response to Bill to address Viktor. “_Seriously? I don’t even know that he’s attracted to women. He could be a celibate for all I know! Will you _stop it_!_” She adds in response to his repeated tapping on their joined hands.

“_He’s staring at you. And me. But mainly you. I think he’s jealous._”

“_He is _not_. Now enough. You’re embarrassing both of us and I would like to actually _introduce _you to my colleague._”

“_Your colleague whose throat you’d like to stick your tongue down and who you’d like to do filthy, filthy things to. You really are not at all subtle._”

Fleur ignores Viktor. “_Désolée_, Bill. Viktor is excited to finally meet one of my colleagues and ‘as forgotten his _manners_.” She punctuates the last word by stamping on Viktor’s foot, causing him to grunt quietly.

“Yes, as Fleur said, I have heard a lot about her co-vorkers and I am glad zat I am finally meeting one!” Viktor makes his excuse sound very convincing. Which is good, since if he hadn’t, she probably would have maimed him somehow. She’s part-Veela. He knows she’s capable of it.

Bill laughs, and Fleur finds herself caught by his voice for what must be the tenth or hundredth time. “I don’t know about ‘finally’, we’ve only been working together for a few weeks.”

“I stand by vat I said.”

“Oh, _pardon_, I ‘ave been ignoring your friends. I am Fleur Delacour. Bill and I work together at _Banque de Gringotts_. And zhis is _mon ami_, Viktor Krum.” She leans towards the two Aurors conspiratorily, “You may ‘ave ‘eard of ‘im. ‘E is a little famous.”

The pink haired Auror laughs. “Nice to meet you, Fleur. Like your friend said, _finally_. This guy,” they punctuate their sentence by punching Bill in the shoulder, “_does not_ shut up about you. I’m Tonks, by the way. She/her. And I think I _have_ heard of your friend in passing. You’re from Romania, right?” This last she directs at Viktor, who grumbles at her good-naturedly. “Kidding! You’re only the most famous seeker _in the world_! If I was any good at Quidditch I might ask for your autograph.”

“Tonks.” Both Bill and the as-yet-unnamed Auror say in the exact same tone.

Fleur bites her cheek to stifle her laugh. The wink that Tonks shoots in her direction tells her that she doesn’t entirely succeed.

“Kingsley.” The final member of their group introduces himself. “Nice to meet you.”

“Vould you like to join us? Zere is plenty of room.”

“Oh absolutely! I _need_ to know where you got your wand holsters. They’re _gorgeous_.” Tonks plops down in the nearest seat without waiting for her two companions to respond.

Bill makes half a noise that might be a protest, he seems torn between embarrassment and some other emotion, but he sits down between Fleur and Tonks anyway.

Viktor is already singing Gregorovich’s praises to Tonks when Bill draws her attention from them both by clearing his throat.

“I, uh, didn’t know you spoke Bulgarian.” He says awkwardly. The very tips of his ears – the only part she can see through his hair – turn slightly red.

She tears her gaze away from his ears and swallows her embarrassment that she might have been caught staring. She clears her own throat. “Oh, yes. I ‘ave spoken it since I was little. It was my grandmozzer’s first language, and she always spoke it with my Maman when she was little. My Maman did the same with me et Gabrielle.” She’s aware that in her fluster she hasn’t been mispronouncing all the ‘th’s in her words as she should have been if she wants to maintain the illusion of ‘improving her English’, but she has to hope that he doesn’t notice.

“That’s nice. Will you do the same with your kids?”

She feels herself flush at the question. Viktor’s empathic ‘_Marry him_’ from earlier rings through her mind and she needs to shake her head slightly to remove it and quash the Veela part of her that is screeching in approval. “I, euh, ‘adn’t zhought about it. I want zhem to speak _Français_, of course. I suppose whether I teach them _Bălgarski_ depends on zhere father. If he does not speak _Français_ then I probably will not as it is more important to me zhat zhey learn my ‘ome language rather zhan zhat of my ancestors.”

Bill nods like he completely understands, looking a little red himself. “And how long have you and Viktor been together?” The question is oddly non-sequitur.

“Oh, we met up earlier, we ‘ave been trying to meet up for weeks, ever since we both moved to London.”

Bill flushes again, this time it’s clearly in embarrassment. “I, ah, I meant how long have you been dating. Sorry, English thing, it’s a colloquialism.”

“Oh.” Fleur feels herself turns bright red. “We are not together in _zhat_ way. We are _amis_, that is friends, not, ‘ow do you say? Girlfriend and boyfriend?”

“Um, yeah. That, is how you say it. And I’m sorry, I just assumed-”

“_Non_, it is not your fault, it is a common zhing as the words are zhe same, it is zhe context-”

“-and you were holding hands so I thought-”

“-and of course, we treat affection differently zhan you do ‘ere-”

Fleur and Bill spoke over each other, faces bright red as they both tried to apologise for the misunderstanding.

“Wow.” They both instantly fell silent at Tonks’ voice. She and Viktor had clearly finished talking about wand holsters and they both, along with Kingsley, were staring at the two of them. “I don’t think I can turn _my_ skin that red, and I’m a metamorphagus.”

“_Vraiment_?” Fleur can’t help but blurt out. “Zhat is incredible. It must be so ‘elpful for your job.” She subtly lets go of Viktor’s hand. He squeezes slightly and mouths _“Jealousy_” at her whilst nodding in Bill’s direction. She ignores him in favour of the _metamorphagus_ _Auror_. This is someone she will be friends with. She knows this already.

**. . .**

** _friend _ ** _n._

_pl. friends_

_1_ _A person whom one knows, likes, and trusts or is attached to by feelings of affection or personal regard_

_2 An acquaintance or a person who gives assistance_

_3 A person with whom one is allied in a struggle or cause, a comrade_

_4 A person that one sometimes dearly wants to exact violence upon as they insist upon trying to embarrass one about the object of one’s affection, see: Viktor Krum_

**. . .**

Bill blinks and suddenly he and Fleur have been working together for over a month. She’s still both dangerous and beautiful, but after a conversation with Nadya that included her accusing him of projecting and being in denial (the phrase ‘river in Egypt’ came up) he’s stopped trying to actively avoid Fleur and can’t help coming to the conclusion that she is both brilliant and passionate, not to mention whip smart. She’s been subtly probing the other members of their team about Voldemort to see where they stand on the issue. Bill almost didn’t notice and wouldn’t have if he wasn’t doing the same thing himself.

He finds himself confiding in Tonks as he struggles to understand his mixed feelings of attraction and wariness. In turn she tells him about the almost instant crush she’s developed on Remus. Alcohol gets involved on more than one occasion.

And then, of course, his siblings find out when they stumble upon him and Tonks discussing Fleur’s incredible Charms work in the Tournament in terms that are skewed slightly more to the lustful end of the scale than the professional he really should be aiming for (he’d managed to get his hands on a recording of her facing down a dragon – he’s Gryffindor enough that he can admit to having had dreams of her for days afterwards – dreams that were incredibly inappropriate to be having about his Junior co-worker and that made him feel like a pervert when he’d flashed back to them in the middle of the office). Of course, you should never let it be said that the Weasley siblings are subtle. The jokes about her “improving her English” with him hit a little too close to home. Especially after that day in Fortescue’s. He’d been jealous of Viktor when he’d seen them holding hands. There had been a great roaring beast in his chest that he’d struggled to contain throughout their conversation until they’d clarified the misunderstanding. Then he’d simply been embarrassed. It’s clear that his feelings for her are more than platonic and not limited to physical attraction (if it was just that then he’d be able to ignore it, but he’s always had a bit of a competence kink and quite frankly her looks are the least interesting thing about her).

Looking back on that day in Fortescue’s brings more questions too. The most significant of which he doesn’t even realise for over a week, too preoccupied with trying to list all of the reasons that pursuing a relationship with her is wrong (she’s six years younger than him and only just out of school, he’s in a position of authority over her as one of her Senior Partners, inter-team romances can be disastrous if they go wrong, she’s vulnerable and away from home, the incident from Fortescue’s indicates that he’d be possessive which he can’t see her liking and which he quite honestly doesn’t like about himself, he’s acting as a spy for the Order in Gringotts and lying to everyone, she’s very capable of getting him to bow to her wishes if she so pleases, she’s almost certainly lying to everyone too) and mostly failing to convince himself, which is why the revelation is as startling as it is. Why is she pretending to be worse at English than she is? She’d slipped up that day, pronounced more than one of her ‘th’s perfectly, which he’d have attributed to his teaching if she didn’t immediately slip back into it afterwards. No, at least some of her mistakes are deliberate. And damn him to hell if that doesn’t just make her more intriguing. (Charlie’s going to have a stroke when he finds out that Bill’s developed feelings for her)

It’s mere days after Harry joins them in Grimmauld Place that he broaches the topic in an Order meeting, carefully avoiding the knowing looks sent in his direction from the end of the table holding the Black cousins and Kingsley (he still doesn’t know how Sirius found out).

Finding out that Dumbledore has known about Fleur’s interest in fighting Voldemort for weeks is irritating. Finding out that he hasn’t approached either her or Viktor out of some kind of misplaced mixture of pride and annoyance because he’d wanted them to gather allies in their home countries rather than coming to Britain is worse. Professor McGonagall takes less than a second to back Bill up on the idea of recruiting them both. Thank Merlin for his beloved former Transfiguration Professor is all he’s going to say.

Except now he’s stuck with the problem of having to somehow approach them about recruitment without just outright stating it and without any of his terrifyingly intelligent co-workers (that he has yet to consider recruiting) finding out. The Goblins don’t care but he shudders to think what some of the other human Cursebreakers could do with the information. Enough of them are unscrupulous without even considering possible ties to Voldemort. Normally, with a problem like this, he’d call Nadya and she’d create a foolproof plan with that frighteningly efficient competence of hers. But one of her aunts is married to Jonathan Avery and he doesn’t know which of the Averys were present in the Graveyard in June. She’s his friend and in ordinary circumstances he’d trust her with his life, but he can’t risk trusting her with this.

“You should ask her on a _date_!” Tonks says eagerly when they’ve all sat down to dinner sometime later that week when he still hasn’t approached Fleur. “It’ll be great. You can kill two birds with one stone and then she can help you talk to Krum.”

“Tonks, that’s not going to work.”

“Um… _yes it is_! Have you seen the way she looks at you? She wants to tap _that_.” Tonks wiggles her ludicrously large eyebrows at him.

Bill rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious! Look, if I thought for a second she’d say ‘yes’ to me then I’d ask her out myself, but let’s face it, she’s clearly got a thing for redheaded Cursebreakers.”

Bill’s head hits the table with a thump, causing his plate to rattle. “Please stop.” He’s not expecting it to work, he _has _multiple annoying younger siblings after all, but he would really like her to stop speculating on his non-existent and _extremely_ hypothetical love life.

“Ooh, I bet she-”

“No.” Bill cuts her off before she can complete the undoubtedly dirty thought. His parents are less than five feet away and the twins and Ginny are shamelessly eavesdropping and even if they weren’t, she’s his colleague. It’s inappropriate to speculate like this (except for when he’s drunk enough that he can’t stop himself anymore, at which point any thoughts of appropriateness get defenestrated alongside his inhibitions), not to mention Fleur would be incredibly insulted if she ever found out. He values his continued existence and tries to avoid threats to it such as this, as much as possible.

Tonks pouts. “Fine. Be all ‘appropriate’, but we all know that you want some serious ravishing to be going on, and also that you nearly swallowed your _tongue_ the other day when you saw her following your lead and wearing muggle style clothes.” She turns to Remus on her left and looks up at him through her eyelashes (Bill would swear she shrinks several centimetres and lengthens her lashes to increase the effect), “You agree with me, don’t you, Remus?”

Remus looks away from the staring contest he’s having with Sirius and says with all the appearance and authority of someone who has been paying very close attention to the conversation, “I’m sure I do, but to be completely fair to Bill, I wasn’t really listening.”

Bill bites his cheek to stifle laughter and catches Sirius doing the same. It’s been five weeks since they met, and Remus is already so gone on Tonks that it almost isn’t funny. Bill’s fairly certain he hasn’t yet noticed how well she’s got him wrapped around her little finger and he wonders how long it will take him to figure it out. His money is on Easter, but he’s fairly certain he’s going to lose it to Sirius, who has the benefit of years of acquaintance.

He sees Kingsley staring at him pointedly from next to Mad Eye and sighs. “I feel ganged up on.”

Tonks glares at him with Snape’s eyes. He shudders. “Alright, alright, fine! I’ll ask her on a date! But it’s business only.”

Tonks smiles at him smugly. “That’s what they all say. The only person I’ve ever seen stick to it is Charlie, and let’s face it, he’s so obsessed with dragons that he wouldn’t notice he was on a date if they stripped naked and propositioned him.”

Every Weasley in the vicinity groans.

“Thanks for that Tonks.” Says Fred.

“That’s an image we always wanted of our dear big brother.” Says George.

“Not mentally scarring at all.”

“Us? Having disgusting mental images of our older brother that should never ever have been put there?”

“Never!” They chorus together.

Tonks gives them a shit-eating grin that she _has_ to have learned from Charlie. “If that’s the case you might want to vacate the vicinity because I’m going to be discussing every dirty little thought Bill’s ever had about one Mlle Delacour, and since I’m going to be drawing on past _encounters_, I dare say that’s more detail than you want.”

It’s almost comical how quickly the blood drains from his siblings faces and they all immediately vanish from their end of the table.

He stares at Tonks in awe. “I’ve known them their whole lives and _I _can’t get them to bugger off that quickly when I want some privacy. You’ve got to teach me how to do that!”

She flips her suddenly waist length dark blue hair over her shoulder. “Sure, but first, we’re talking about Fleur. Hope you already have ideas for asking her out, because you’re not going to be able to keep a coherent thought for a while.”

He does the same thing he learned to do back when in school when Nadya came up with a new scheme. He smiles and nods. _Shit. He is in such _deep _shit_.

**. . .**

It’s almost September by the time that Bill approaches Fleur. She’s been certain that he’s working for a resistance group for _weeks_ and has repeatedly expressed her desire to get involved in as many subtle ways as she can think of without just outright telling him in the middle of the office. She’s been explicitly expressing her desire to get to know him on an intimate and non-platonic level for almost as long (several ‘accidental’ meet ups with Tonks and a few intentional ones have gone a long way to both building their friendship and clarifying that Bill is unattached, has no engagements and is interested in her in a significantly non-platonic way) and she’s getting to the point where she’ll happily shove him into a broom cupboard to have her wicked way with him if he doesn’t catch a hint and get a move on in wooing her (_every_ witch has the right to be wooed, and modern though she is, Fleur would like it if Bill would just _act_ on his desire for her so that she doesn’t feel like a silly little schoolgirl lusting after her teacher).

He’s sitting at his desk and she’s leaning over his shoulder whilst they go over the transliterations between Anglo-Saxon, Marcomannic, and Elder Futhark runes and Gobbledygook that they’ve spent the last week working on so that they can make sure there are no nasty surprises hidden in the latest ‘package’ that the Auror office has _so kindly_ delivered to them.

Fleur is relaxed and her mind is just starting to wander to how close she is to touching him, and how she can almost taste his magic on her tongue, when Bill says, _à propos of fucking nothing, _“We should have dinner tonight at my place. I can’t cook but there’s a really nice muggle Mexican restaurant just down the street that does a deal on take out if you pick it up instead of getting it delivered.”

She straightens and stares at the side of his head. He hasn’t even looked away from the page. “What.”

In the background she registers Carlos and Nadya both spinning their chairs around so that they can watch, whilst ‘Zin puts his quill down and leans back against the wall. Fujimoto-san makes a hasty exit, picking Mssr Chaudhri up on his way out, the two of them having decided they’re apparently to old for this kind of thing. Sarkissian _Rayis_ and David aren’t in today and Marta has stopped poring over her own translation to listen, even though she’s still pretending to work.

Bill finally looks up at her, eyes intense. “Dinner. You, me, later.”

“I ‘eard you the first time. I just wasn’t certain my ears were not deceiving me, seeing as I ‘ave spent two months trying to get your attention and you choose _now_ to reciprocate.” She tosses her hair, irritated.

“Is ‘now’ a problem?” He asks.

“_Non_, I ‘ave no plans. But you could ‘ave given me some kind of warning.”

He smirks at her and leans back in his chair, stretching. It’s unfair what that movement does for his arms, and she momentarily loses her train of thought. He leans towards her slightly. “Warning: I’m asking you out.”

She snorts. She can’t help herself. “Is there a reason for this?” _Are you offering me a position in your resistance group?_

“I find myself interested in getting to know you… _better_. I figured we could talk about our families, our interests, maybe a little bit about our own mortality?” _I’m genuinely interested in you, but this particular date is me feeling out how trustworthy and aware of the risks you are before I hand over an invitation to my group_.

Fleur smiles and leans in, bracing her hands on the arms of his chair. “You know a lot about my family already, _Bill_.” She draws out his name. “And I am well aware of my own _mortalité_. But our interests… I am intrigued to know about your interests, especially those that put you in the kind of robes you were wearing the other week.” _You should know I am trustworthy already, and I am well aware of the risks. I am willing to take them. I also want a non-business date with you_.

Bill doesn’t move from where he’s sitting. “So, we’re agreed then? My place, after work?”

“_Oui_. I am looking forward to it.” She doesn’t back away. _His move_.

He considers his words for a moment. “I am always interested in knowing more about you, Fleur. But tell me, aware of your own mortality or not, what do you have against a little death? That is how the cycle of life works, after all.”

Fleur smirks at his accidental innuendo and leans in even closer, so that she’s practically whispering in his ear and can taste his magic and he can smell the perfume Cousine Jeanne gave her as an early birthday gift. “Yes, well, I think we can _both _agree that _la petite morte_ can be good for _everyone_.” She makes sure to emphasise her accent on the last word before tossing her hair over her shoulder and sashaying away in a way that she _knows_ draws attention to her assets. He’s trying to pretend that this is all business and resistance groups when she _saw_ him practically swallow his tongue watching her in training earlier. She’s not above drawing out a little petty revenge. She can play rat and kneazle as well as anyone. She’s spent the last couple of weeks chasing _him_. Now it’s his turn to make chase. She smirks to herself. _This is going to be fun_.

Behind her she hears him try to parse through her words, “A little death can be good fo-” she knows the second he’s understood the innuendo and what she means because he abruptly stops talking and Vasquez, ‘Zin, and Marta all start laughing. She knows that if she turns around, then she’ll see his bright red blush. She can hear money changing hands, and as she sits back down Nadya gives her a thumbs up.

_Oh yes, very fun indeed_.

**. . .**

** _date _ ** _n._

_pl. dates_

_1_ _The sweet, edible, oblong or oval, usually brown, fruit of the date palm, containing a narrow, hard seed_

_2 A specified day of the month, often given with the name of the month or with the month and the year_

_3 An appointment or social engagement (usually romantic in nature) to meet at a specified time_

_4 A person you are planning to meet socially and in whom you might have a romantic interest, see: Fleur Delacour_

**. . .**

_“Put on your war paint_

_…_

_So we can take the world back from the heart-attacked_

_One maniac at a time we will take it back”_

_“The Phoenix” – Fall out boy_

**. . .**

**Author's Note:**

> *Now kiss*
> 
> So for those of you who are interested, Bill speaks Arabic fluently (courtesy of living in Egypt for like 5 years) and is competent in Gobbledygook like the vast majority of Gringotts employees. He also speaks passable Spanish. By which I mean he basically knows enough to know the difference between someone insulting him and being asked to pass the butter dish. And all the swear words. Which he also knows in Armenian, Japanese, Italian, and Persian. Because the only people with filthier language than Cursebreakers are Aurors. From like halfway through this fic he starts trying to learn French (which has absolutely no connection to Fleur, _nope_) I just forgot to mention it in the text. 
> 
> I have backgrounds for all of the other people on the Cursebreaking team btw. I just didn't include it here. In case you missed who was who:  
Zabel Sarkissian - Armenian witch, team leader, no one messes with her. Her wife is a very nice muggle chef.  
Shirou Fujimoto - Japanese wizard, stealth expert, second in command, aroace  
Marta Bermúdez - Colombian witch, part of a family that's basically Sacred 28 equivalent, flirts with Carlos a lot  
Carlos Vasquez - Spanish wizard, youngest in the group after Fleur, thinks he's the hottie of the group but it's actually either Bill or David  
Bill Weasley - British wizard, very good dueler, got mad problem-solving skills  
David Nenci-Favero - Italian wizard, best cook in the group and basically the only reason they survived the first time they got trapped in a tomb, madly in love with his healer husband.  
Nadya Shafiq - British-Saudi witch, terrifyingly competent, went to school with Bill  
Kamal Chaudhri - Indian wizard, oldest in the group, married to a politician with 4 kids  
Fleur Delacour - French witch, part-Veela, very willing to punch/stab  
Eskaminzin "Zin" Rivers - Native American Apache wizard, tracking expert, exceptional at Transfiguration
> 
> In the fic they are all referred to by either their first name or with french honorifics because Fleur is French, but I have a list of all of (hopefully accurate) honorifics for each person taking into account their native culture and language.
> 
> Also only 5 of them (3 if discount Bill and Fleur) survive the war, one of whom leaves the team/Gringotts afterwards. Which ones? Not telling. 
> 
> ** Edit:** It's just been pointed out to me that I should probably explain the innuendo in the last section. For those of you that didn't understand it, in French "la petite morte" is slang for an orgasm. So Fleur's basically taking _that_ and running with it.   
Also the hide that Bill's leather jacket is made of is basilisk hide. Because after CoS he asolutely went out of his way to find some hide and then pay someone to turn it into a leather jacket for him. And then he told Ginny just to see her face light up. How scary can a basilisk be if he's wearing one?
> 
> If you have any questions, want to talk about my headcanons, or just want to chat, come and scream at me on [tumblr](https://booksandreadingismylife.tumblr.com/)


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